


The Fox and the Hound, Or, the Heir and the Hero

by Nylffn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Inspired by The Fox and the Hound (1981), M/M, Orphans, Time Travel, WW2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-03-09 00:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nylffn/pseuds/Nylffn
Summary: Based on The Fox and the Hound, this is a story of how Harry Potter becomes best friends with Tom Riddle. But with all the panic of World War Two, will they really stay friends for long?





	1. Friendship

**1981**

From the outside it was a simple and unassuming little cottage in the West Country, but on the inside it was a home.  _ Was  _ a home.

Portraits of a smiling redhead and her black haired husband lay smashed on the fireplace that will never again roar with playful lion heads, and the carpet once stained with bright paint that was now scorched black and dull. A black haired man lay dead on the floor, his face reflecting the panic of his final breath, and a stick clenched in his hand as tightly as a dead man could. Bloodied and lightly smeared footprints trailed from the man’s body and up the stairs before fading with lack of purchase on the bare feet it clung to. A door, once white and pure, now blackened and lively with green flame, was bashed in and sparking the nearby wallpaper. The wallpaper caught and the fire carried with gumption to the rest of the house.

The only sound to be heard over the fire swallowing the home, were the cries of a mother begging for her child and soon one of a blast that shook the very foundations of the home.

The mother was no longer begging, and a child wailed, and the green flame spread and ate up the child.

* * *

 

**1927**

A long painful wail reached a boring looking matron just come home from a grocery run. The matron let out a startled gasp and dropped the bag of bread and fruit, likely bruising it, in favor of rushing to check the child. Sitting on the steps of the orphanage laid a boy clutching a blankie marked with ‘Harry James Potter’ on one corner and ‘Prongslet’ on the other. Running her fingers along his brow to check his head, she was upset to find a scar in between his eyes of a lightning bolt. Inflamed and emitting blood like puss from a scabbed up whitehead.

With all the grace of a practiced parent, she scooped up the baby and brought him inside, telling one of the other matrons to go pick up the groceries outside, she had a child to care for right now.

Finding a nappy, towel, and free bed in the baby room, she changed him, dabbed at the bleeding wound gently, shushed him until he fell asleep, and quietly shut the door as she left. She glanced shortly at Harry’s bed neighbor, Tom, and hoped that the baby wouldn't wake him up with his cries.

Not that Tom ever cried that much.

* * *

 

**1936**

_Happy Birthday_ was such a happy song to Harry. It symbolized no chores and an extra serving of breakfast and a desert with a candle and at least one present from Martha. Harry’s great big smile and extreme joy came crashing down like the planes he had heard about being used in the Great War. For Harry wanted to share his happiness with everybody, but there was one boy who never sang and never wanted his desert with a candle on his birthday and never got presents from anybody at all. And he sat in the rickety reading chair that was just across from Harry and the singing gaggle of orphans, very unignorable. And so, with a determined face and the singing turning quieter and quieter and confusedier and confusedier, Harry walked straight over to the boy and said something that would change both of their lives.

“Tom Riddle! I’m going to be your friend and you’re going to smile!” Harry shouted with resolution. There was completely silence for a split second before the other orphans began an uproar.

‘You can’t be friends with Freaky Riddle!’

‘He’s a demon, Harry, he’ll kill you!’

‘But, don’t you remember when he strung up Billy’s bunny?’

‘We won’t be your friends anymore, Harry!’

To all of which Harry straightened his back even more and held out his hand to Riddle and asked a question.

“If I can make you smile, will you be my friend?”

Tom looked Harry up and down, scoffed, and returned to his book. The children started to murmur behind Harry’s back and he felt the challenge of a new friendship begin.

He got really close to Tom, enough that the boy was trying to scoot away as much as he could on the one person chair.

“I’m a freak too,” Harry said in a very quiet whisper, so quiet that if he hadn’t literally been breathing into Tom’s ear, Tom would have definitely missed it. Tom looked gobsmacked for a moment, before burying his nose deeper into his book.

“If you can prove it by tomorrow, I’ll let you be my friend.”

And so, Harry spent the entire night wide awake in his room with Dennis and Billy sleeping soundly. He focused on staying as silent as he could be while he commanded the flame of his small oil lamp to flare to life.

It was an hour from sunrise when he finally managed to make the fire spring to life, and he happily went to bed after this difficult task.

 

It was the next morning, and Harry was significantly more tired than he would have been if he had just gone to sleep on time. But no, the tired Harry Potter was still expected to show up for school at St. Grogory's at eight AM prompt and ready, lest he wanted another ruler struck across his fingers. Harry was the last in line and slightly sweaty from his jog to school, always seeming to be just two minutes behind the group that just had to _walk_. He was lucky to arrive and sit in his seat just as the bell tower chimed.

However, he was not so fast in pulling out his school books.

“Mr. Potter!” Harry cringed away and shrunk into his seat at the violent call of his name. “Your books aren’t out on your desk, and you’re not ready for class at all!” She jabbed his half-tucked-in shirt a little too harshly and harrumphed. “Hands, Mr. Potter.” Harry’s horrified looks did not affect the other students as they tried and failed to withhold their snickers. Soon, snickers turned into snorts and snorts into outright howls of laughter. Not that Harry knew why, he assumed that they were laughing at him being beaten. His eyes were closed tight, bracing for the pain.

When Harry was finally able to open his eyes and look at his teacher, he too had to withhold his laughter. Her hair was bright blue, a blue even more extreme than that one ice cream shop downtown. Harry glanced over to where he knew Tom’s seat to be and saw exactly what he wanted to. Tom, grinning despite himself.

The teacher let out an outraged shriek as she passed a window and saw just what Harry had done. And all laughter stopped as her shrieks turned to comprehensible words.

“Mr. Potter! First you show up late to class, then you have the nerve to–to–to _dye_ my hair?!” Her eyes blazed in her fury. “I don’t know how you did it, Potter, but I know it was you behind this!”

The class went on in pin-drop silence, with only the screech of chalk on blackboard to distract Harry Potter from the punishment he was likely to receive when he got back to the orphanage.

But on the bright side, he had made Tom smile.

* * *

 

**1939**

Harry knew that being an orphan wasn’t easy, but it was especially hard when he knew that he could be on the Quidditch team but couldn’t buy his own broom. Tom had no such worries as he dragged Harry past Broomstix without even a glance at the Star Racer 001, the fastest broom ever made! Harry knew that the Hogwarts’ orphan fund only gave them barely enough money to buy second hand books and cauldrons, but it couldn’t stop Harry’s dreaming.

They skipped looking for robes and went straight to look at books; Tom kept assuring him that he knew a spell that could make their old ones longer, and that it would save them money for buying better cauldrons this year. Neither wanted the residual newt eye slime from last year, or the explosions.

They were both pleased to note that they had saved a whole two galleons by skipping the robes, but for two very different reasons.

“We could go to Fortescue’s and get some ice cream! I’ve heard it’s really great, Myrtle kept going on about it!”

“No, Harry, we need to save our money. When we get out of Hogwarts we’re going to have nothing. We should start making something now.”

Harry, knowing better than to argue with Tom, settled for huffing and longingly looking at the ice cream parlor that he would never visit. Tom sighed and took hold of Harry’s shoulder.

“Harry, we have forever together, we might not be able to go today, but I promise that we can go there someday.”

Harry’s eyes moved away from the home of sweet treats slowly and looked at Tom. He never slouched like Harry, and he always knew what to do and always had an air of confidence. Tom was powerful, this Harry knew, and if he said that they would be together forever, then Harry wouldn’t doubt him for a moment.

 

While Tom and Harry got off the train together and rode in carriages pulled by reptilian horses that only they seemed to be able to see, they weren’t together long, with Harry being called away by Minerva and waved down by Myrtle. Tom strode over to the Slytherin table, making the other Slytherins quiet and look his way. Harry would always wonder exactly what Tom had done to make the bullying snakes go silent and apprehensive, but he knew that he shouldn’t pry into Slytherin business. It made his Gryffindor friends angry with him.

The same could be said for Tom though, they only had very few chances to interact with each other during the school season. Tom always got whisked away by Lestrange before Harry had the chance to sit down and talk about anything with him. Not that the same didn’t often happen to Harry, Minerva and Myrtle always liked to chat with him at meal times. Myrtle often escaped horrible Hornby by joining them over at the Gryffindor table and always had juicy gossip about the other houses.

The only times he really got to be with Tom was class, and Tom was great at classes and expected the same of Harry. They never got to study together, but Tom would always copy his notes and let Harry read them over when class was finished.

It could be hard at times to stay friends with Tom with all the distance, but it was hard not to be with the memories of the orphanage and the shared wonder of seeing Hogwarts for the first time.

It was September second when owls came in for breakfast, screaming and hooting. The Daily Prophet fell from the ceiling, the normally black letters red with two terrifying headlines.

 

**Muggle Extremist Hitler Invades Poland**

 

**Grindelwald is Back and Conducting an Army**

 

There was dead silence while the Daily Prophets slammed against tables from the owls and even for a few seconds after all the mail had been delivered.

Then came the screams.

Tom and Harry shared a terrified look from across the great hall, remembering stories of the great war from their muggle peers.

No matter how hard the teachers tried, nobody could get anybody to be calm.

It was the very next day that the war on Germany was declared by all of Great Britain.

Tom cornered him that day, not worried about being seen talking to a Gryffindor like he could be sometimes. He wasn’t even worried about Myrtle and Minerva.

“Harry, we need to go talk to Headmaster Dippet,” he said, casting a glance at Harry’s friends. “We can’t waste time, Harry, come on, I’ll vouch for you if you’re late to class.” And with that, Harry was being dragged away by Tom, watching as his friends gave each other and Harry worried and confused glances.

“Everybody is scared of Grindelwald, but Harry, we can’t go back to the orphanage this summer, who knows what’s going to happen in London. We’re going to ask Dippet to stay here this summer and we’re going to be safe, don’t worry, Harry.”

They were denied refuge.

They’d have to go back during the summer.

* * *

 

**1940**

The orphanage without any decent air inflow was hell. But a worse hell were the air sirens. The first time it happened to them was the day they got back, only with stories and the other kids telling them to pack a bag, being nice perhaps out of sheer fear. They didn’t understand it fully until darkness descended.

Throughout the day, they had seen posters hung up on the walls that hadn’t been there just half a year before.

‘Loose lips sink ships’ and ‘In a raid, walk, be calm, take cover, others will do the same’. There was one poster that wasn’t as well drawn as any of the others, and it had Harry moving slightly closer to Tom: ‘The sirens will do the screaming for you, stay silent in a black out.’

Of course, Harry and Tom had just gotten back from the Express and already had their trunks packed, but when Ms. Cole came by and saw that they had full trunks she shook her head and gave them both bags barely large enough to hold a change of clothes and a water bottle. They had to keep their wands tucked into their waistbands, the bags already stuffed and the risk of a broken wand was too high.

With a great sigh, Harry settled into his bed, relieved that there were no screaming sirens.

How wrong he was to be so calm.

Tom had just cast a weak Lumos on his finger tip when it began.

The air was suddenly screaming as the machine inhaled from barely a mile away, muffled by the brick walls of the orphanage. Feet began to run past their door. The machine cried out and planes roared in the distance. Martha was yelling something, and Tom was wide-eyed and dragging Harry out of their shared room. Ms. Cole smacked something over Harry’s face and there were more directions being barked, but directed at the two of them rather than the group. But nothing was louder than the never-ending wailing of the sirens. The sound brought back memories that didn’t exist, of red hair and begging and green fire and loud explosions.

As they were ushered into the Anderson Shelter that Harry didn’t even know was in the back playground, the sound of bombs got closer and louder. Inside the shelter, the sound was deafening, like they were going off right outside, right on the orphanage, right in his room, right on his escape into magic.

Tom wasn’t holding him as he lost his mind, but his back was a warm rock just behind his own. He could make out some hushed yelling about light from under their door and how the Germans attacked because the devil children turned on a torch. While his ears definitely picked up those words, his brain dismissed them in unwilling favor of the earth shaking around them, the water leaking down the zig-zagged metal, the bodies of people who had turned their backs on him cramped far too close. Somewhere, the breathless wail of the siren turned into the breathless wail of a woman screaming “Not Harry, not Harry!”

The rest of that summer was spent keeping their wands close, each other closer, and their eyes on the sky; awaiting bombs or the owl that would whisk them away from this nightmare.

 

The arrival back to Hogwarts had the entire school split into two types: those who experienced the Blitz, and those who hadn’t. And the split was tangible. There were very few who could be classified as a third type, a type who had obviously experienced the Blitz from the way they occasionally strained their ears for sirens, a type that despite this could talk to both sides and not break down or stare far, far away. Harry was safely on the side of the people who had experienced the Blitz. Tom though was somewhere in that third category, and Harry knew for a fact that he was faking. He had heard every breath Tom had made for the past three months, every small jolt had been noted, every look of panic as the days drew closer to September first and the owl still hadn’t shown up had been seen.

He never called Tom out when they were in class, not when he saw that the notes that Tom so diligently took were written with a shaking quill, not even when Tom physically froze for a moment when he was asked a question in Transfiguration.

Harry knew instinctively that Tom was making closer allies, Harry himself was likely Tom’s only real friend, and if nothing else was for sure, his only best friend. While Tom was off making allies, Harry was in the library, searching for something. He just didn’t know what yet. He was no Ravenclaw, but reading was one hell of a way to get the screams out of his head. He'd read through all of _Hogwarts: A History_ twice by now, and read half of the books on all the different electives he could have taken this year instead of Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures; he’d read those books before the second week.

There was one book that Harry found himself suddenly far too invested in, _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ . He looked over the pages dedicated to _Babbitty Rabbitty_ , and he didn't bother to read _The Warlock's Hairy Heart_ even once. No, all he could read about were the three brothers. Not one of them escaped Death, but wasn't that their true wish? The only one that lived far beyond the young deaths of his brothers was the youngest, the only one smart enough to hide from Death. It was just like that that he had lost interest in reading through the whole library, suddenly focused on the idea of an invisibility cloak to hide you from death.

To hide you from the Blitz.

To hide Harry from the never-ending siren wail of _not Harry, not Harry_.

By Halloween, Harry was much more gaunt, more reclusive, and no amount of Myrtle whining that they never saw him anymore or Minerva worrying over his pale, skinny state was going to change that.

What might change that, however, was the little tawny owl that swooped down during breakfast and delivered a letter telling him to go see Headmaster Dippet after the feast that night. Minerva began whispering about why, and Myrtle began complaining that she never got any cryptic letters.

Tom was waiting near the two giant doors leading into the Great Hall, and had stopped Harry before either of them entered, tugging him aside and telling his fumbling colleagues that he would only be a moment.

“Harry, I saw that you got a Hogwarts owl this morning, is everything okay?” Tom was visibly worried and had a hand on Harry's shoulder, shaking so slightly that had it been anyone but Harry, it would have gone unnoticed.

“Everything will be fine, Tom. Dippet just wants to talk after the feast, if I was in trouble he would have called me up right after I got the owl,” Harry assuaged. Tom didn't seem totally convinced, but he did let go of Harry's shoulder. Tom spared a glance around them, seeing nobody around, he quickly hugged Harry, a very rare act that had Harry's eyes blown wide.

“Be careful, okay? Nothing can happen to my best friend.” At this Harry smiled and returned the hug with a light pat on Tom's back. With the promise to be careful and a reaffirmation that Harry was indeed Tom's best friend, they both walked into the Great Hall and enjoyed the sugary holiday feast.

Harry, as he soon found out, was going to enjoy it a lot more than Tom ever would.

“Harry Potter, this is Fleamont and Euphemia, they've been hoping to meet you.”

Harry was told all about how they had always wanted a child, but had never been able to, and had been so happy when they heard that a Potter was going to Hogwarts.

“We have reason to believe that you're from one of the Potter lines that branched off in the later 1700s, and we would like to ask you to come to the Potter Manor for the Yule holiday this year.”

Harry, stunned and at a loss for words, gaped at them.

He was going to be part of a _family_ , and for Christmas no less.

He could only nod at them dumbly, and both Fleamont and Euphemia gave him the most brilliant smiles he had ever seen. At their bright smiles, he thought of how happy Tom would be that they could spend Christmas with a family.

“I have a friend, Tom Riddle, can I bring him too?” Harry asked once he recovered from his stupor. The Potters both looked at each other sideways then back to Harry.

“He can come visit on Christmas Eve, Harry.” And while Harry knew that maybe, just maybe, he should stay with Tom at Hogwarts for Yule break, he couldn't resist the allure of a family.

Tom had no clue that that horrifying, sweltering, deadly summer, was the last they were going to spend together in that orphanage. Harry knew that he would do all he could for Tom, even if they didn't see each other as much.

 

New Year's Eve was Tom's birthday, and even though they weren't together to celebrate this year, Harry could actually send him a gift. The Potters had felt bad about not having Harry’s friend over for Christmas Eve like they had promised and gave him some money to go buy his friend a gift. Harry knew that Tom would prefer money over any gift that Harry could buy him, always on about saving for when they were older and needed to make it on their own. But this was the first time ever that Harry could do something for Tom.

Harry had spent hours in Diagon Alley looking for the perfect gift. Tom would always appreciate books, but there was just no sentimental value behind them. He would get him ice cream, but he wanted the first time he ate ice cream to be with Tom. New robes or a new trunk would be an insult, certainly Tom would sell them back and use that money to go buy more books.

Eventually, Harry was drawn over to a shady looking old lady selling necklaces. She said that they had the most pure type of power waiting to be unlocked by a powerful witch or wizard. Harry knew that he shouldn’t listen to the things that an old, likely crazy, lady said about unlocked power, but the emerald eye set in the silver of a snake was watching him, and he knew that Tom would love to have it.

And so, Harry sent off his gift by owl with a letter with the words ‘I'm getting adopted!’ in big bold letters. He sat near the window awaiting Tom’s inevitable thanks and congratulations.

Two days later, he received a small box by owl. With a happy smile, Harry began to open it delicately.

There lay the necklace, the emerald smashed, the silver melted and disfigured, and a note under it in bright red: _Traitor_.

Harry's heart broke.

The rest of third year Tom avoided him and Harry tried not to get too upset, knowing that he would be mad too if Tom had left him alone in the orphanage. He just hoped that it would pass by the time the next school year rolled around.

 

Harry spent his entire summer at the Potter Manor, happy to forget the screaming and panic and sheer darkness of the Blitz. However, he could never forget that Tom was there in the tight metal room all by himself, suffering the sounds of war surrounded by people who hated him.

Harry had tried to send Tom letters by owl, hell, once even by muggle post, but all his owls came back with the letters unopened. Because of all this, halfway through the summer Harry decided that Tom just needed a bit of space. With his thoughts plagued by Tom, Harry decided that the best way to get a hold of his thoughts again was to read the _Tale of the Three Brothers,_ just like he had when his mind kept screaming _not Harry, not Harry_. Harry vaguely thought about sending Tom a copy of the book, but knew that it would return unopened not only because Tom wasn't responding to anything, but because he believed that any book worth reading had to be educational.

Harry found the comfiest chair in the library and settled down with the book in his lap. He had just read the part about the eldest brother being murdered, when Fleamont walked into the library.

“A lover of fairy tales, Harry?” he asked with a smile. Fleamont approached a shelf and withdrew a thick book titled _Behind the Bard Beedle_. “Did you know that he actually knew the three brothers? It was their story that he made come to life, didn't he?”

“He really does make them come to life. He must have used the resurrection stone,” Harry joked. Fleamont's expression when he said this became slightly more closed off, and he stiffly asked a question Harry wasn't quiet expecting.

“Harry, do you think that the Hallows are real?” At this point, Fleamont had walked back to the shelf he had gotten his book from and was putting it back slowly, awaiting an answer from his adopted son.

“Hallows? You mean the three gifts from Death?”

“Yes, those.”

Harry stared at the picture of the brothers trying to cross the bridge for a bit, the silence between Fleamont and Harry growing more heavy with each second that passed.

“Yes, I think I do believe in them.”

* * *

 

**1942**

Harry had been very wrong for assuming that Tom would get over it. It took him two weeks to realise that Tom was actively ignoring him. Every time Harry had tried to wave him down in the halls, one of his lackies would walk a little closer to Tom and glare at him. Eventually, Harry stopped trying and holed up in the library, hoping that maybe Tom would stop by, see him, and talk to him, just for a little while.

Minerva would join most days, doing homework with him, especially helping with Transfiguration. Occasionally, Myrtle would drop by and let him know about the ongoing gossip mill of Hogwarts, but she seemed to be allergic to the library despite being a Ravenclaw. When Minerva wasn’t there pestering him about next years OWLS, and Myrtle was away gossiping elsewhere, Harry was beginning to study potions in earnest. He might not have Tom’s beautifully written potions notes anymore, but he would work just as hard so when they finally spoke again, Harry wouldn’t be a disappointment as well.

Reading about potions, Harry soon found, was extremely interesting. There was a way that potions’ authors managed to keep you glued to the page, like the pages were laced with some sort of love potion. He wouldn’t be surprised if a few were lightly coated with Amortentia, the way he fell in love with the books.

Slowly, he began to move away from the library and into the dungeons where all the spare potions rooms were. It took much more convincing of Professor Slughorn than he would have liked, but having been brought in with the Potters managed to score him some points.

The dungeons were much closer to Tom and he took a few jaunts beyond the classroom to see if he couldn’t find the Slytherin common room, not to any avail though. There was so much general snake propaganda in the dungeons that nobody ever noticed because nobody wanted to come down here. Unless you were a Slytherin yourself, of course. Harry had tried hissing at certain portraits, but they only hissed back, no semblance of recognition in their painted scales.

It wasn’t long before he moved on from trying so hard, figuring that eventually, someday, Tom would come back.

 

Right before winter break, he sent Fleamont and Euphemia a letter explaining that he would be staying in the castle for this holiday; he found that as it stood, Hogwarts was home, and not being in her brightly decorated halls for Yule last year had felt off. He got a letter back fully accepting and letting him know that after he graduated in a few years, he would be expected to spend as many Yules with them as he could. He sent a letter back full of promises.

Sadly, what Harry never realised, was that it was his best friend Tom who had always made the holidays just that much brighter. With him sitting across the hall, but giving him no mind, the room seemed to seep with the winter coldness of the outside, and swiftly drove Harry away from the Christmas Eve dinner and into his dorm. The bright and comforting Gryffindor colors did nothing to warm him up, instead they made him feel more cold and alone than he had at the feast.

He fell asleep terribly restless that night.

Christmas morning was greeted by a very groggy Harry, not feeling as excited as he should have been. At the end of his bed were presents, and the fog in his mind lifted when he saw a card with graceful cursive across the front. It looked so similar to Tom's, he scrambled to the end of his bed and plucked the card from the stack of gifts. He carefully removed the envelope and withdrew the card. When he opened it, a slip of paper slipped out and expanded to its full size. He held the now enlarged piece of paper in one hand and read the card with the other.

“Dear Harry,

I hope this card finds you in good health.”

No, this certainly wasn't Tom.

“I have heard you were adopted by the Potter family. I know more about you than you do yourself, and enclosed in this card is the recipe for a lineage potion. Young Harry, I more than advise you to make it and pursue your budding potions career; you undoubtedly come from a very long line of potioneers.

-Henry Potter

P.S. My gift to you is not only knowledge, but that which has been in the family for many years.”

Harry then took a glance over at the recipe on his other hand and his eyes widened. Dittany, dragon's blood, fairy wings, viper venom to name a few. It took only a month to brew, but Harry had been studying and knew that a few of these ingredients would need to simmer longer than was noted here. He got to scribbling down questions and notes on the paper.

He would make this potion during the summer, when the Potters could help him get his hands on the ingredients. This school year however, he would do his best to get Slughorn's help with his adjustments.

He set the letter to the side and looked to the gift from Henry. It was wrapped in bright red with a green bow on top. Harry grabbed the package, some sort of thick clothing by the way the paper crinkled when he picked it up. He slowly ripped off the paper to find a beautiful cloak that, despite being of thick durable fabric, flowed like silk in his hands. He wrapped it around himself and found that the heaviness of the cloak was quite nice on this winter morning. When he looked down to reach for the next gift, he almost screamed. Only his feet were on the bed, moving, but certainly not attached. In this momentary panic, he threw off his new cloak and his legs reappeared.

He signed in relief before his mind froze.

This was an invisibility cloak, just like from the Tale of the Three Brothers. His new family had known him so well, that they had been willing to give him a connection to the brothers. Even one who he had never met in person. He wrapped himself up in it again, no longer worried about his dismembered feet.

Harry, warm and invisible, went to grab his last gift, noticing that there was nothing from Tom this year. Inside the wrapping from Fleamont and Euphemia was the book _Behind the Bard Beedle_ , with a note on the inside cover telling him that they loved him very much.

Harry sat there for what must have been more than a few minutes, allowing his mind to wander freely. Yet, no matter how free his thoughts were, they kept straying back to the cloak and the recipe and Tom. Harry had come to the conclusion that even if this cloak had been in the family awhile, it’s far more likely that it wasn't _the_ invisibility cloak. Common ones could be renewed with a strong bedazzling charm, and that was the likely what this was. Nonetheless, he felt one step closer to his role model.

With this cloak, he could just steal the ingredients for the potion, and maybe if he made extra… Harry glanced to the window and listened for the birds in the distance.

Maybe Tom would take him back. Maybe he didn’t need Slughorn’s input on the changes, Tom would know better.

Harry clenched the book in his hands, narrowed his eyes, then threw it on his bed. He practically jumped out of bed, knowing full well that Tom would be heading back to the common room by now. With purpose and a flair he didn’t know he had, he swung the cloak around his shoulders and ran out of the tower.

Invisible and empowered, he ran to the stairs that headed down towards the dungeons.

Tom had once told Harry that the Slytherin dorms weren't too far from the potions classroom, so he followed familiar paths down.

The walls got colder the farther you got down, and nobody even mentioned that the closer you got to the potions, the stronger the smell of antiseptic got. The walls down here didn't have many paintings, and Harry was losing more and more confidence the longer he didn't find one. There was absolutely no indication of a common room down here and Harry just felt lost.

After what felt like hours, but had been just minutes, footsteps echoed around him, bouncing off walls and resonating farther and farther down. Harry whipped around looking for the source, it had to be Tom.

Sure enough, Tom was walking towards a stretch of wall, his nose buried in a book on 7th year potions. Harry moved closer to him as he looked up from the book and spoke the password.

“Heritage,” Tom spoke and the bricks in the wall parted like Diagon Alley. He was just about to take a step inside when Harry grabbed his right arm and pulled him away from the green-lit room. Tom let out a very feminine squeak that he would never admit to, dropped his book, and grabbed for his wand with his off hand. Now armed, Tom widened his stance and shouted.

“Homenum Revelio!”

Harry shuffled back, fully expecting to be seen right away, but the cloak just floated along with him, concealing him. Tom's eyes were narrowed and he was ready to strike out the moment he saw his enemy.

“I can't see you, but I know you're here, so show yourself!”

Harry stood and thought about it for just a moment.

“Tom, it's me, Harry,” he whispered. Tom looked completely off guard. They hadn't spoken in forever and Harry was still invisible.

“Harry?” Tom's voice was shocked, but he continued, his voice steady but angry, “Harry. You fucking traitor.”

“Tom, listen to me! I got a Christmas present from–”

“Must be nice to get gifts from your new family! Expelliarmus!” A shock of red light followed his words and headed straight towards an unassuming Harry. The spell went right through the cloak and hit him in the chest. His wand fell from his hands, but flew into the blockade of the cloak and clattered to the floor. Harry dropped to the floor to grab it and avoid another spell shot at him.

“Tom, stop! I have something to _tell you_!” Another line of spells lit up the dim corridor, this time Harry shot his own back. “Petrificus Totalus!” A bright white light shone from his wand and made way for Tom. Tom dodged out of the way and sent the same spell right back at him.

“Nothing you could say would matter, Potter! You left me there, _alone_ !” Tom’s normally perfectly coiffed hair was in disarray and his eyes were wild. “You left me with those warmongering _muggles_!” No longer was he calm and collected and calculating, and Harry knew his only chance would be to use this against him.

“Yeah! Well!” Harry stumbled over his words trying to think of something to throw Tom off. There was one thing he could try, but he hadn’t actually ever been able to cast it.

“Nothing to say to the man you betray–”

“Expecto Patronum!” Harry yelled. Tom stumbled back as a blue-white crow flew through him. “Petrificus Totalus!” The spell caught Tom as he was stumbling away from the bird. Harry took a moment to take a breath before walking up to Tom's still body. Even with his body petrified, his eyes followed him in rage.

“Tom,” Harry began softly, crouching down by his body, “I got a gift from Henry Potter, it's a lineage potion. We could brew it together, Tom, we could prove that we're better than mudbloods. Who knows what we could find out! For all we know, I'm descended from one of the three brothers!” Harry continued to ramble, motioning excitedly, his concentration on the spell getting lost in his excitement of Tom-was-going-to-be-his-friend-again! Suddenly Harry was cut off, his breath left his body and his hands came up to scrabble at the hands around his neck. Harry's eyes met Tom's. Bright green on stony grey.

“I know I'm better than a mudblood, I know that I'm better than _you_ ,” Tom spat, tightening his hold just a bit before letting Harry gasp for breath again. “I know that the great Slytherin was my ancestor, I just don't know how. I do know that I'll find out without the help of a Gryffindorish whelp.” With that, Tom let go of his throat roughly, and stepped away into the Slytherin common room.

Harry laid there, the invisibility cloak under him and clasped around his neck. Even though the hands had left his neck, Harry still found himself choking. Water ran from his eyes and his whole face burned. His neck strained trying to keep down the hiccuping sobs. He tried to sit up, and only barely mustered up the will power to roll over and crawl to his knees.

So this is what it was like to really and truly lose a friend.

 


	2. Heritage

**1943**

Christmas had come and gone, no presents to Tom, none from him either. Tom's birthday had passed, and Harry's heart ached with the knowledge that his birthdays would be just as bad as they used to be. It might be disguised by gifts from his powerful ‘friends’ and false happiness, but Harry knew that no one would sing him  _ Happy Birthday. _ There would be no dessert with a candle. No smile. 

The beginning and middle of summer were a blur of heat and thoughts of air-sirens he couldn't hear from Potter Manor. Sleeping and being woken up by nightmares of the ground shaking and ‘ _ not Harry, not Harry _ .’  _ Behind the Bard Beedle _ had been read thrice over; the new knowledge like heroin. The most intriguing piece of information was that the three brothers were real people, the Peverells. The lineage potion had been perfected and brewed. Enough that two vials could be made. Harry didn’t dare risk sending it to Tom now, wouldn’t risk him shattering it out of spite. All the potions needed now were a bit of blood and parchment, and they would be all ready to go.

However, on the very last day of summer before he went back to Hogwarts, he used his vial, too anxious to wait for Tom's return to him. If there would even be a return.

He sat down in the Potter library, his back propped up against the chair he often read in. He laid down a parchment, 48 inches, a common size for essays. Harry had no clue how big each name would be, if there would be pictures – he hoped there would be, he wanted to know what his mother looked like – if anything would show up at all. 

Harry opened the vial, and spread the thick liquid across the paper. He took the knife he had nicked from the kitchen, and with a deep breath, sliced his left hand open. A deep grunt forced its way out from between clenched teeth. As the blood dripped into the paper, names began to form and branch out like a tree. His mother's line began writing itself to the left and his father's to the right. 

There were no pictures, so he ignored his mother's line in favor of his Potter lineage, he traced the branches with blood-stained fingers. His father's name was barely there, like it had been written with water, and every name beyond Fleamont was a grey-ish red.

Harry Potter – James Potter – Fleamont Potter – Henry Potter – Alfred Potter – Hardwin Potter – Linfred of Stinch- The page cut off.

There.

Just before the page cut off the page revealed that Hardwin Potter had married Ilothan Peverell, descendant of Ignotus Peverell. The third brother. The one with the invisibility cloak. 

His cloak was a  _ Hallow _ .

Laughter bubbled up and out of him, he brushed his bloodied hand through his hair in excitement. 

He was related to the three brothers! Descended from the wisest of the three no less! 

Harry's first thought was to tell Fleamont, ask if he knew that they were related to a legend. His second was that that was a stupid thought, obviously he would know his own heritage. 

“Harry?” Fleamont’s voice swam through the door, the sound very much like he was underwater. Harry shook his head and cradled his hand to his chest.

“I’m in here, Monty,” Harry called back, his eyes never leaving the paper. The door creaked just enough to let him know that Fleamont had entered the room. Footsteps leisurely moved right behind the chair he was propped up against.

“Harry, here you are! You weren’t at dinner, and Euphie was getting worried…” Fleamont’s words trailed off, but Harry resolutely stared at the Peverell name. “Harry! What in the world have you been getting up to?!” Fleamont sounded aghast, shuffles back could be heard, maybe the sound of a wand sliding into a hand. “Where did you get that potion? The recipe died with Henry years ago!” At that Harry looked up from the paper for the first time. Fleamont’s eyes were wide with shock and what could have been a smidgen of fear. His wand was in his hand.

“Years ago? Henry gave me the recipe and the Cloak for Christmas.” Something lit up behind Fleamont’s eyes, something like realization. There was hesitation, and a searching look to the ceiling, like the speckled would hold all life’s answers. He heaved a sigh after a heavy pause, and looked back to the raven haired boy in front of him. The boy who looked so much like Henry, that he almost wondered if there was a mistake in time.

“Harry, I believe that we need to take you to the goblins when we go to Diagon Alley today. You aren’t seventeen yet, but I want to get you something that surely belongs to you.” Fleamont grabbed Harry by the left arm, and took a long look at his hand. After a pause of hesitation and a second of floundering for words: “Well, I was going to just heal it up, but I think this will take some dittany to fully heal.” Fleamont stumbled with his wand as he slipped it back up his sleeve. 

He never stopped glancing at Harry’s hand, even as he whisked Harry away from the library and out into the sitting room. 

Harry was feeling more empowered than ever before, if a bit light headed.

 

The ride to Hogwarts the next day was quiet. Minerva was with the others who had been made prefect, undoubtedly with  _ Tom _ . Myrtle had made a Gryffindor friend over the summer and was probably with him. So he sat alone for the ride, flipping through his fifth year potions text carefully with his freshly bandaged hand. It was interesting, but nothing he didn't already know, nothing he hadn't already researched while making the lineage potion. The second vial of which was in his trunk tucked between a set of soft robes and the Cloak.

He patted one of the thestrals as he boarded his carriage, and watched in a strange mix of apathy and pity as he watched second years stare where the leathery-winged beasts stood hoofing the ground. The carriage ride had also been quiet, all he could hear was the light clopping of the horse-like beings outside and the rattle of old carriage wheels going over the dirt ground. 

The feast had been just the opposite of his journey, loud and bright, and even louder still. Minerva chatted his ear off about everything and nothing before the sorting began, then began to guess houses. She went quiet after the sorting, and took ahold of Harry’s bad hand thoughtfully just as Harry began plating his food.

“Harry, when did you get your inheritance?” She pulled his hand closer and looked at the ring that sat on his left pinky. It wasn’t gaudy for an heirship ring. A triangle with a circle inside of it and a line bisecting both.  

“Technically I don’t have it yet, but Monty wanted to give this to me. Said it was rightfully mine.” Harry took a moment to look at the ring admiringly. “Fell into the hands of a man who spoke parseltongue and claimed to be the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin, Muffin Taunt, or something.” Minerva chuckled at that. 

A scrawny blond boy, Ruffus Cunning, Myrtle’s new friend, leaned over and looked at his hand too. 

“You know, that symbol’s been ‘round in the  _ darker circles _ .” He glanced around with shifty eyes, like someone was going to jump out and kill him if he went on. “Those guys in red cloaks, Grindelwald's men wear that on necklaces. Might not want to flaunt it, Potter, could be grouped with  _ them _ .” Harry looked at Ruffus consideringly, before looking back to his ring.

The symbol of the Hallows had been taken and twisted by Grindelwald to the point where it likely could never be seen as something good again. 

"So what if I get grouped up with them? This is my  _ heritage _ . The Peverells were powerful wizards, not terrorists. I'll clear this symbol of stigma if it kills me." Minerva shoved him playfully, and Harry had to smile.

"You sure you aren't a Slytherin, Mr. Heritage?"

"Nah, nobody there has the courage to accept that Grindelwald is wrong about his 'greater good'."

"Well I think it's a beautiful ring, and you have every right to wear it."

 

It was the last month of school, and the first class of  June Harry had that year was potions with the Slytherins. Of course Slughorn would sit the year’s best students together to brew amortentia, likely hoping that they would bounce ideas off each other. So, as confidently as possible, Harry stood next to a stone-faced Tom. 

"Now students, I want you all to know right now that there's a ward on the door to keep you from taking any amortentia out of the room," Slughorn elaborated. "Now, go ahead and get started!" A shining hourglass flipped over on Slughorn's desk, the sand began to fall. 

Tom opened his book with a flick of his wand, while Harry was already making his way to the supply cabinet. Tom spared a glance at the directions before following after. Harry made his way back, a small basket filled with ashwinder eggs and moonstones, pearls and peppermint, lavender and roses. He set down his basket next to his gold cauldron, and pulled out a chocolate bar from his robe pocket. 

Harry flicked his wand and filled the cauldron with water then lit the flame under it. Tom walked back and did the same, glancing at Harry's basket half-heartedly, then giving it a wide-eyed look.

"Are you adding  _ lavender _ ?  _ First _ ? Lavender doesn't even go in amortentia!"

"Lavender helps bring out the potency of peppermint, and it'll over power it if it isn't added right away," Harry said passively, while cracking the ashwinder egg open.

Tom, meanwhile, followed the recipe in the book: ashwinder egg, stir three times clockwise then one counter-clockwise, crush the shell and set aside, add peppermint and five rose thorns… 

When Tom added the thorns Harry chopped up his chocolate finely and added it in with only three rose thorns. Almost sensing Tom’s look, Harry looked up at him.

“Rose thorns make the potion stronger but makes it brief and possibly poisonous. The chocolate encourages a lasting, more “true love” akin affect. It coats the cauldron, too, the gold is what makes the thorns so unstable.” Harry carried on with his unorthodox methods.

“Wasn’t potions your worst subject, Harry?” 

“It was. Until I decided that I wanted to honor my family name,  _ Riddle _ ,”  Harry spat. 

Thirty minutes passed, and the last few specks of sand drifted to the bottom of the hourglass which gave off a chiming sound when the top was empty. 

“That’s it everybody, hands up!” Slughorn exclaimed in his jolly tone. He sniffed the air a few times. “What’s this! Has somebody managed to finish their potion?” Harry was the only one who raised his hand. “My boy, however did you manage that?”

“Well, sir, I used lavender first and by doing so, brought out the potency of the peppermint. It cuts the brewing time down by an hour.” 

“You sound like you’ve made this potion more than a few times before! You know it’s a highly illegal potion to brew outside of a classroom, Harry.”

“Of course, sir. My guardian, Fleamont Potter, is a potions master with a license. Amortentia is great for getting mistletoe to grow berries out of season, and, well, I needed some over the summer.” Harry thought back to his trunk which contained the aging vial of lineage potion. Then he thought to Tom who was fuming next to him.

Slughorn began to praise him and tell all the students that he would be expecting a paper about the three uses of love potions outside of rape. But all Harry could really think of was the way Tom covered his nose, and the way that Harry himself was overwhelmed by the smell of old books, sweet fire, and something he could only describe as  _ safe _ . 

Surely he looked lovestruck while Slughorn told him that he would be exempt from the essay for such a wonderful potion.

 

The next day, when Harry awoke, he found a rose tied in dark green ribbon on his bedside table. A small note was attached, closed with a heart shaped seal.

"Harry, the potion yesterday overwhelmed me with the smell of you. Please meet me at 9:00 PM next to the second floor girl's lavatory.

-M"

Harry looked at the letter, turned it over, then looked at the paper again. Who was M?

Minerva? Myrtle?  _ Malfoy _ ?

With a deep breath, Harry steeled himself for the day, ready to watch out for anybody looking at him with an M in their name.

As the day went by he was able to rule out Minerva, she had told him the second she came into the common room that none other than Elphinstone Urquart in Ravenclaw had talked to her at dinner. Myrtle had stayed with the Ravenclaws all day, so Harry didn't know about her. Mary Malkin had spared him a few glances, so she couldn't be ruled out. 

Classes passed with Harry only vaguely paying attention to each. His anticipation was growing as the hours ticked down to nine. 

At eight thirty that night, Harry slipped the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders and hitched the hood up over his head. He didn’t leave the dorm just yet, instead he sat on his bed and gingerly picked up the beautiful rose he had received. He fiddled with it between his fingers, let the thorns prick his fingers, coat them in delicate red, brighter than the rose. He laughed a little to himself and let the rose hang loosely in his hand as he made his way down to the girls' lavatory. Pinned on the door were two signs: the one that had been up all year long ‘OUT OF ORDER’, and one that read ‘Come inside’ in flowing cursive.

Harry was a bit hesitant to go  _ into _ the girls' lavatory, but slowly creaked open the door. Flickering candle light and the smell of sweet fire floated out like the swirling steam of amortentia. He kept his gaze down, flustered by the location. A not unfamiliar sibilant voice slipped into his ears like water from the sink the liquid was flowing from.

" _ Go back before he sees you… _ " 

"Hello?" Harry called, finally taking a step into the bathroom. The bathroom had a thin layer of water across the floor that rippled like a flag caught in the wind. Candles had been set up in the thin layer of water that made the ripples look like gold. The ripples from his feet settled and reflected none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

_ Marvolo _ .

This was completely unexpected. Was he lying about the smell of the potion? Was the rose really from him?

“Riddle?” the reflection smiled a smile that Harry had not seen in years. His head snapped up to meet Tom’s eyes head-on. The boy – no,  _ man _ ’s – hair wasn’t neat and orderly like normal, but handsomely mused. His eyes almost a shade darker in the dim candle light.  A table and two chairs sat near the sinks, a single rose in a vase sat upon the table innocently. Subconsciously Harry rubbed his bloodied fingers together, not even wincing from the light sting of the wound. 

“Harry, it’s been too long since it’s been just us together like this.” Tom was walking towards him, his movements slow and smooth. The smile was so unthreatening it put Harry at peace, but those movements, like a snake hunting its prey, swiftly made that peace uneasy. Harry couldn’t stop his feet from moving back just a bit as Tom took steps to be much closer than they had stood willingly in almost two years. 

“Yeah, because the last time that happened,  you choked me and called me a whelp.” An undeniably sexy laugh fell from sinful lips.

“I couldn’t help it, Harry, I was so close to discovering something amazing when you offered your help.” He brushed the back of his hand against Harry’s cheek thoughtfully. “I felt… Offended, I suppose, that we hadn’t spoken all year and suddenly you were giving me the answer I had been working so hard for.” Tom’s light brush turned into a lover’s caress. Harry’s face flushed bright red, he could feel it. Tom bit his lip, seemingly uncertain. Such a human act from the recently untouchable Tom put Harry on the verge of tears. Tom leaned in slowly.

The smell of safety wafted around him.

“And as it turned out, I didn’t need your help at all.” He pulled away just as slow. “Harry, shall we sit? I’ve prepared us a little something special.” Tom removed his wand from his sleeve and waved it towards the table. With a swirl of magic, a bottle of champagne and two small dishes of ice cream appeared like a cloth had been ripped from above them.

“I remembered, Harry, the first time we ate ice cream, it’d be together.”

Together they moved towards the table, the overflowing sink beside them like an odd fountain. As Tom sat down the champagne began to pour itself into two flutes. He set his wand on the table as he reached for the sparkling drink. 

“Tom,” Harry began, “What’s all this really for? We both know you wouldn’t go through this fuss. Not for me. Not anymore.” 

“Harry, why wouldn’t I go through this for my best friend?” 

Harry sat straighter in his chair, his hands began to tremble beneath the white table cloth. 

“You haven’t called me that in quite some time, Tom, what changed?” 

“Harry, when I smelled your amortentia I was overwhelmed by you. How could I not come to terms with something so blatantly obvious?” Tom’s head had come to rest elegantly on his perched hands. Harry scoffed.

“Please, everyone saw you almost threw up from the smell.” 

“Harry, Harry, Harry, it’d been so long since I’d even thought about you, it was… shockingly potent. I was surprised and unprepared, can you blame me?” Tom sighed disarmingly, and held up a hand as Harry was about to respond. 

“Yet, that’s not why I really called you down here.” He waved his hand and soft jazz began to play in the background. “I wanted a dance with you, Harry. And maybe a chat about our…  _ relationship _ .” Harry hesitated, but Tom was already next to him and hauling him up. Harry splashed in the water-coated floor as he stumbled over his own feet, but Tom’s steps were so smooth they barely made the water ripple. Harry couldn’t keep his face from flushing as Tom pulled him close and wrapped his oddly strong arms around his waist.

“Now-” Tom couldn’t even start his sentence before Harry was pushing him off. Tom stumbled back, the water splashing up around his ankles, and his eyes widened with shock. They swiftly turned hard with annoyance.

“No. No  _ now _ . You had a ‘now’, and you used it to try killing me, Tom. And, and if you were going to fix it, trying to-to  _ seduce  _ me isn’t the way to do it!” Harry’s voice couldn’t help shaking, no matter how loud he was being. Harry started to wave his hands, trying to find the physical expression of his inner thoughts. Tom grabbed them with ease and Harry took two deep breaths before looking Tom in the eyes. 

“Harry, I know things now. Things I was only researching last year when you came back to me. I was rash, attacking you, losing you. But I’m here now, and I’ve seen the error of my ways.” He moved Harry’s hands to sit atop his shoulders. “I met my uncle last Yule, and learned of my heritage.” Tom’s smile was so happy and true that Harry couldn’t help but stare, “I wasn’t wrong, Harry, I am descended from Salazar Slytherin. I’ve learned who I was meant to be Harry, and I could be that man so much more easily if you were by my side.” Harry had to take pause in his anger, feeling intense sympathy well up within him. 

“I-I…” Harry looked down between them, watching the candle light dance over the water and weave between their legs. “I learned of my heritage, too, last summer. I think I’d be better with you, too.” He chuckled. “Harry Potter-Peverell and Tom Slytherin, sounds like quite the power duo.” He looped his arms around Tom’s neck and played with the ring he had taken from the tiny old man.

“Ah, right,  _ Peverell _ .” At these words, Harry stilled and withdrew his arms. He had only started to push away when Tom made his move.

The speed at which Riddle spun them around and pinned Harry to the overflowing sinks had his head spinning. “That little ring you have there, I’ll need to take that. It’s mine, you see. Belonged to my deranged uncle.” He must have knocked his head against the sink because his vision was starting to get a bit fuzzy around the edges.

“You can’t have it Tom,” Harry said, doing his best not to slur his words, “Inheritance magic, can’t take it off me without cutting my finger off.” He laughed against his own will, like the thought was an especially funny joke. Tom just smiled at him. 

“Thank you for letting me know, Harry.” His laughing dropped-off slowly as realization filled his eyes like tears. Riddle maneuvered Harry’s arms in such a way that he was able to hold him down with just one hand. With the other he shook his wand out of his sleeve and into his waiting hand. 

“Now,” he breathed, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Harry.” He slowly traced his wand down Harry’s pinky. “Would you like to take it off yourself, or shall I do it?” He was shaking, and it was doing hell for his already hazy mind, Harry was unable to answer, his thoughts screaming through his ears instead of his mouth. He did his best to wiggle his body free, going as far as trying to yank his hands down, but Riddle’s hold was tight and unyielding. 

“The great descendant of Peverell can’t even defend himself? What a pity,” Riddle hummed. The words washed over his like cold water. How dare  _ Riddle  _ of all people insult the noble house of Peverell! Harry redoubled his efforts to struggle out of Riddle’s grasp, flailing instead of wiggling. His mind was finally starting to clear up a bit.

“ACCIO!” Harry yelled, only to get a laugh in return.

“Oh, Harry, you’re not even holding a wa-” 

_ CRASH! _

The bottle of champagne rammed into Riddle’s head on its way to Harry’s hand. Riddle stumbled away, clutching the back of his head. With a groan Riddle turned to look at him. 

“This could have been painless, Harry, if you’d just danced and listened and  _ obeyed _ , but I guess I’m going to have to do it the hard way. AVADA KEDAVRA!” The scream must have been audible all throughout Hogwarts castle, but Harry didn’t hear anybody coming as he watched the bolt of green surge towards him. Everything had become slow, even the way Tom’s face twisted into a cruel smile when he shot the spell. Non-existent memories from the summer flooded back.

Hair short and balck instead of long and firey. 

Cruel laughter instead of begging.

Water instead of fire.

Almost silence instead of explosions. 

‘Killed, by my best friend. Too short, not enough time.’ were Harry’s scrambled final thoughts as the spell made contact.

There lay the quiet body of Harry Potter, only the flickering green flames licking his body saying goodbye with their pops and crackles. The water his body lay upon was pinkened with blood and the candles were burnt down to nubs prematurely. Ice cream melted and glass shards scattered as the terrifyingly handsome man made his way to the dead body and began to cut off the left pinky. The finger was almost completely slashed through when a bright light flooded his senses, forcing him to scramble back. When it faded, all that remained was a lock of black hair matted with blood. 

Over the rushing water, only the sound of an enraged scream emerged. To the rest of the castle though, all was quiet, not a peep to be heard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spiraled.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it had a very appropriate breaking point, so it's turned into a two-shot. Depending on whether or not I spiral out of control it might get three, but it should really just be two. Tell me what you guys think!


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